


The Consequences of Knowing

by azenki



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, M/M, Post-Canon, This Is Sad, alternative title: pining but not really, no one dies and no one gets hurt but no ones happy either, technically not polyamory since the maiko and sukka are fake, the mai/zuko and sokka/suki are fake relationships btw, they just cant be together because politics are a bitch, theyre pining except they know the other person likes them, this is not a fluffy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24406411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azenki/pseuds/azenki
Summary: Zuko’s eighteen years old and drinking a lukewarm cup of jasmine tea when Sokka turns to him and says, “You know I’m in love with you, right?”Zuko doesn’t choke on his tea. He keeps drinking it, then stops drinking it, then sets it down on the table with a quiet clink.“Yeah,” he answers, his voice almost inaudible over the faint crackling of the torch. “I know.”Or: Sokka's in love with Zuko. Zuko knows this. Zuko's in love with Sokka. Sokka knows this.They're not meant to be in love. Everyone knows this.
Relationships: Mai/Ty Lee (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 211
Kudos: 1947





	The Consequences of Knowing

**Author's Note:**

> if you didnt read the tags then lemme warn you this is NOT a fluffy zukka times fic, it's probably the most melancholic thing ive ever written

Zuko’s eighteen years old and drinking a lukewarm cup of jasmine tea when Sokka turns to him and says, “You know I’m in love with you, right?”

Zuko doesn’t choke on his tea. He keeps drinking it, then stops drinking it, then sets it down on the table with a quiet clink.

“Yeah,” he answers, his voice almost inaudible over the faint crackling of the torch. “I know.”

He does know. The signs are all there, and Zuko’s oblivious, but he’s not stupid. He’s seen the way Sokka looks at him, seen the way he shivers when Zuko’s hand brushes his skin, seen how his mouth drops open a bit when Zuko takes off his shirt while they spar.

Zuko’s seen these things, and he recognises them, because he does them too. He stares at Sokka the same way Sokka stares at him, and he shivers when Sokka’s hand brushes his, and his mouth goes dry when Sokka takes off his shirt. Because Sokka’s in love with Zuko, and Zuko’s in love with him too.

“You know _I’m_ in love with _you,_ right?” he asks Sokka, and Sokka grins.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

When he leans over and kisses Zuko on the lips, something shifts into place. When Zuko kisses back, he can’t shake the feeling that this is right. This is the way things are meant to be.

* * *

Zuko’s nineteen when he looks at Sokka and realises he wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

That might be a little presumptuous, considering he’s not even twenty yet, but he looks at Sokka and _knows._ Sokka’s sitting in the corner, soaking in the sun, tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he pores over maps. He looks ridiculous—there’s a smear of ink on his cheekbone, and his wolf-tail is loose and practically untied. He’s ridiculous, and gorgeous, and Zuko’s so, _so_ much in love.

“Hey,” he says, and Sokka looks up. “I’m in love with you.”

It’s not enough. He doesn’t have enough words for what he wants to say. He wants to tell Sokka that he’s ready to wake up to him every day, that he wonders what Sokka would like with a crown in his hair, that he can label a diagram of a hot air balloon down to the very last screw because he listens when Sokka rambles. He wants to tell Sokka that, for the first time in his life, he finally feels like he has a _partner—_ a true equal in every single way.

But he doesn’t have the words, so instead he says, “I’m in love with you,” even though it’s not enough.

Sokka, predictably, smiles back at him. “I know,” he replies, and Zuko’s heart swells.

* * *

Zuko’s twenty when he learns the hard way that, just because they’re meant to be, things aren’t always _allowed_ to be.

In other words, people find out.

 _People,_ in this case, means Kilak, one of Chief Arnook’s councilmen. And look, Zuko may be half-blind in one eye but he can still _see,_ and he’s seen the way Kilak’s gaze slides over when Sokka opts to sit next to him. They’ve been trying to be subtle, but sometimes—sometimes Zuko needs to know that he’s not alone in this room that used to be solely for war, and Sokka will reach out and brush his thumb across the back of Zuko’s knuckles. Most of the time, it’s discreet, it’s chaste, it’s possible to brush off as platonic—but Kilak’s seen them do it one too many times. And he’s seen Sokka leaning just a bit too much into Zuko’s side. And he’s seen how Zuko slumps against Sokka’s shoulder at the end of a hard meeting.

The signs are there, after all, for anyone sharp enough to look. And Kilak is sharp; he’s got sharp eyes, and a sharp mind, and a sharp tongue.

Sokka’s the one he confronts, because Sokka doesn’t have the same protection that the Fire Lord is offered. Sokka’s the one he corners in a dark and empty hallway, where there are no guards to overhear him warning the Ambassador that nothing good will come of this.

Sokka’s the one who staggers into Zuko’s chambers, white as a sheet, and whispers, “Zuko, he _knows.”_

* * *

There are consequences.

They _knew_ there would be consequences, and they did it anyway. But they’re still blindsided when it happens, when other nobles start giving them strange looks when they stand too close together, when Katara pulls Sokka aside to tell him, gently, that they’re being too obvious.

It’s not that they’re two men that’s the problem. The problem is that Zuko’s the Fire Lord, and Fire Lords can’t be involved with their ambassadors. Fire Lords can’t marry Water Tribe commoners, even if the commoner’s father is a Chief. Fire Lords can’t…well, to put it simply, Fire Lords can’t do _this._

See, here’s the thing: Zuko loves Sokka enough to damn the consequences and risk it all. He knows Sokka loves him enough to do the same. But being willing to do something and actually doing it are two very different things, and in the end—

In the end, they stop standing so close. In the end, Sokka stops reaching out to hold Zuko’s hand in bad meetings. In the end, Zuko pretends that he’d never reached out at all.

* * *

Zuko’s twenty-two when he ends it, permanently.

Well. He’s the one who says it. He’s the one who says, out loud, that they should stop. But Sokka’s the one who’s been pulling away, lately. Sokka’s the one who’s been extra careful about what they do and how they look. 

It’s mutual, is what it is. It’s mutual, and they both know that, if things were different, they’d still be going strong. 

But things aren’t different, and Zuko watches Sokka leave his chambers with a hollow aching in his chest.

* * *

Zuko’s twenty-four when Mai grabs his hand in front of a group of pompous nobles and tells him to kiss her.

He kisses her. It’s wrong in a way that it wasn’t when they were sixteen and fighting a war. It’s wrong because he knows what right feels like, now, and right is a boy with a boomerang who makes him laugh and feel like he’s burning up from the inside.

He kisses Mai, and it’s wrong. He kisses Mai, and she tells him, later, that if he wants someone to stand too close, if he wants someone to reach out for his hand during the bad meetings, she’s there. 

He accepts. It’s a silent understanding that this is not a relationship; it’s a friend helping out a friend, because Mai knows how hard it’ll be for Zuko if he shoulders all this alone.

She’s dating Ty Lee anyway. She doesn’t have time to kiss both of them.

* * *

Zuko’s twenty-five when Sokka and Suki get back together.

Suki drops by with her Warriors, sometimes, and when that happens she always takes up the guard post outside Zuko’s door. He’s tried to get her to go to sleep, but she’s always refused, always said that if he got hurt on her watch she’d never forgive herself. So he lets her guard him, because it makes her feel better and it makes him feel safe. It’s a win-win.

Tonight is one of those nights, and he leans against the doorway to talk to her. It’s been a while since he’d last seen her, and they’re not _that_ close, but you don’t just break out of prison with someone and _not_ forge some kind of bond.

When he congratulates her on Sokka, she looks at him with a certain kind of sadness.

“There’s someone back on Kyoshi Island,” she tells him. “Her name is Yi.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Suki smiles at the look on his face. “Yep,” she says softly. “He’s Ambassador, y’know? He needs the right image. We’re together, but we’re not... _together._ You know what I mean.”

Zuko thinks of Mai, and he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

* * *

Zuko’s twenty-six when he asks Mai to marry him.

It’s not romantic. Not at all. He’s doing his paperwork, and Mai’s reading in the corner, and he sets down his brush and says into the silence: “Would you mind if I asked you to marry me?”

Mai lowers her book. 

“Not really,” she says, her voice completely neutral. “I’d get to boss people around.”

Zuko’s mouth quirks up into a half-smile. “Then I’m asking you to marry me. Right now. I’m asking you.”

Mai shrugs. “Fine by me.” 

He twists around to look at her. She’s sitting hunched up on the chair in the corner, the super uncomfortable one that he never uses but keeps anyway because he knows she likes it. “That’s it? No conditions?”

Mai’s eyes go a little bit steely. “None. But I hope you know this doesn’t mean I’ll stop seeing Ty Lee.”

“I know,” Zuko says, and she nods.

That’s that, then. They’re getting married.

* * *

Zuko spends his wedding night with a man who is not his husband.

Nothing really happens. The moment it’s late enough that they know no one will disturb them, Mai quietly slips out of bed and opens up the passageway behind the wardrobe. It leads straight to the sparring room, where Ty Lee is waiting, and she nods at Zuko before she leaves.

He gets it. She needs comfort. He needs comfort, too. He loves Mai deeply, truly, with all his heart, but he doesn’t love her the way a husband’s meant to love his wife.

Today was his wedding day, and he’d never felt more wrong. He’d looked at Mai and told her things that he was supposed to be telling someone else, things that involved words like _love_ and _cherish_ and _forever._ When Mai had told him similar things, he’d seen the way her eyes shuttered: like she was trying to block him out, like she was trying to imagine someone else in his place.

He gets it. He’d done the same thing, after all.

When the wardrobe passage opens up again, it’s not Mai who comes in. It’s Sokka, his hair hanging loose, a quiet kind of sadness coiled up in his shoulders and his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly, when he sees Zuko sitting on the bed.

“Hey,” Zuko replies, shifting aside to make room. Sokka drops down next to him, soft and warm and pliant.

“Congratulations,” he says into the blankets. Zuko snorts. There’s nothing to be congratulated on.

He lies back down against the bed, and his entire body presses up against Sokka’s from knee to neck. He closes his eyes and lets himself pretend, for a moment, that when he’d gotten married it was to the person who he should’ve married. Who he would’ve married, if they were normal.

But they’re not normal. They’ve never been normal. So the most Zuko can do is turn his head and press a soft kiss to Sokka’s palm, and when Sokka leans down to kiss his lips instead, he kisses back and pretends.

* * *

Zuko’s twenty-eight when he gets pleasantly drunk with Sokka on the beach outside his Ember Island home. They’re there on vacation, Mai having all but forced him out of the palace with Sokka tagging along. They’re there on vacation, and they’re alone, and Zuko’s warm all over from the alcohol. He’s sitting side-by-side with Sokka on an outcropping of rock just above the beach, the tips of their bare feet brushing the ocean surf. Sokka’s holding a bottle of rice wine in his hand, and he tips it sideways so that the liquid sloshes against the glass.

“Hey,” he says, not looking at Zuko, “you know I’m still in love with you, right?”

Zuko sighs. He holds out his hand for the bottle, and Sokka passes it over.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, taking a long draught of wine. “I know.”

He doesn’t bother saying it back. Just like him, Sokka already knows.

* * *

Zuko’s thirty-two when Izumi is born, and he loves her more than anything. He ducks his head and kisses Mai on the cheek, and they both know it’s not so much an act of affection as it is an act of gratitude.

 _Thank you for doing this,_ he tells her, with the soft squeeze of his hand on hers and the quiet smile on his lips. _Thank you for giving up what you could have had._

Mai leans back against him. She looks exhausted, but she looks down at Izumi and smiles. 

“It’s your daughter, Zuko,” she says softly, and they both hear the distinction, even if no one else can.

 _Your daughter,_ she says. _Not ours. My daughter, and your daughter, but never ours._

He knows that Mai looks at Izumi and sees brown-grey eyes and plaited brown hair and a bubbly laugh of a person dressed in shocking pink. He knows, because he looks at Izumi and sees blue eyes and brown hair and a man who’s currently living on the other side of the world.

It’s not fair to Izumi, he thinks, that they look at her and see what could have been instead of what already is. So he blinks away the image of a daughter he and Sokka share, and he sees _her_ instead—not himself. Not Mai. Just her, Izumi, this tiny little girl who he’d give his life to protect.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, because he loves her either way. But there’s a part of him, the part that fell out of place when he was twenty-two and watching Sokka walk away—that’s the part that whispers in the dark about how it does matter, a little bit, because she could’ve been _his._

* * *

Zuko’s thirty-nine when Izumi asks him, quietly, why he doesn’t look at her mother the way he looks at Uncle Sokka.

“What do you mean?” he asks her, pulling a comb through her hair. She frowns down at the table and fidgets with her hands.

“You look at him the way Uncle Aang looks at Aunt Katara,” she says, finally. “But you don’t look at Mom like that. And Mom doesn’t look at you like that.”

Zuko doesn’t answer. How can he? How does he tell his daughter that her parents aren’t the way parents are meant to be? 

“Do you love him?” Izumi asks, and he sighs.

“Yes,” he says, and she nods with the sage wisdom that only young children have.

“But not Mom,” she supplies. “You don’t love Mom.”

"I love your mother very much,” he tells her, setting the comb down and reaching for a ribbon. “Just not the same way I love Uncle Sokka.”

Izumi’s uncharacteristically quiet as he pulls her hair up into a topknot and ties the ribbon carefully. 

“Why didn’t you marry him?” 

He meets her eyes in the mirror as he slides her golden hairpiece into place.

“I couldn’t,” he says simply. “They wouldn’t have let me.”

Izumi nods solemnly and rises from her seat. She doesn’t ask who ‘they’ is, or why they wouldn’t have let him marry Sokka; she just looks at him, eyes bright, and says, “He looks at you that way too, you know.”

Zuko watches her slip out of her chambers, no doubt to go climb a plum-blossom tree.

“Yeah,” he says to himself, the words echoing slightly in the empty room. “I know.”

* * *

Zuko’s forty-two when Sokka kisses him for the last time.

They’re sitting in Sokka’s chambers in the newly built palace of the South Pole. Zuko’s there to talk things over with Chief Hakoda about import and export, trade routes and when, exactly, the sea freezes over. Sokka’s there because...well, he just is.

They’re sitting in Sokka’s chambers, and they’re not really doing anything. They’re just lying side-by-side on Sokka’s fur rug, forgotten cups of tea cooling on the table beside them, when Sokka leans over and kisses Zuko on the lips.

Warmth blooms in his chest, still exactly the same as when he was eighteen and his best friend had kissed him over a cup of jasmine tea. Nothing’s changed, but everything has.

Sokka pulls back, only slightly, his thumb drawing idle circles over Zuko’s temple. Zuko’s cheek is cradled in his hand, and Zuko leans into his touch, huffing out a soft little sigh as something eases in his chest.

Sokka laughs, quiet and a little bit melancholy. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you,” he says, and drops a kiss to Zuko’s hair. “I don’t think I ever will.”

“Me neither,” Zuko answers, closing his eyes. Here, in this moment, he can pretend he doesn’t know. He can pretend he doesn’t know that he has a wife who doesn’t love him, the same way he doesn’t love her. He can pretend he doesn’t know that he has a ten-year-old daughter who has skin as pale as anything and eyes as dark as her mother’s. He can pretend he doesn’t know that if someone were to walk in on them, right here and right now, the outcome would be catastrophic.

Knowing things only brings consequences, after all, and the rewards aren’t always worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> i WARNED you it was sad pls dont kill me


End file.
